


Little Sheep

by its_mike_kapufty



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [20]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, Churches & Cathedrals, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Religious Guilt, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29549412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/pseuds/its_mike_kapufty
Summary: They talk about Hell. Well…theydon’t. But the sermons do, and frequently. And Link wears his reception so openly that Rhett can see how he envisions the flames licking him in this life, before he’s even said farewell to the body he’s lent.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Series: Tumblr Ficlets [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170695
Kudos: 15





	Little Sheep

**Author's Note:**

> For the one-word prompt "truth."

Rhett identifies all too well with the candles on the altar that bend in the breeze whenever someone sweeps past. 

Maybe that’s just the context of existence here–with stained-glass eyes dead as they are fragile that tend to the flock of sheep in the pews. Where wolves in wool are the assumed offenders for unbelonging, Rhett’s no wolf. Neither is the guy seated next to him. If anything, they’re the wrong breed of animal. The zoo’s missing an exhibit.

In a booming voice, the pastor speaks with a certainty that’s always felt misplaced to him. If a higher power exists, how would he entrust Words of divinity to something as flawed as man? The imperfect telling others to fix their own imperfections, a misinterpretation that falls on the heads of those who don’t need to hear it–who can’t process the weight of a guilt so damning. 

Rhett knows that’s why Link is rigid still with his hands clenched in his lap. He can feel the disquiet radiating from his white-knuckled soul–someone who’s simply weathering a storm like a sapling and praying their roots aren’t torn up and exposed by the time the clouds break.

They talk about Hell. Well… _they_ don’t. But the sermons do, and frequently. And Link wears his reception so openly that Rhett can see how he envisions the flames licking him in this life, before he’s even said farewell to the body he’s lent. So scared of being what he is. Of the footing he’s thus far maintained, but threatens to slip and plunge every time he tries to let himself feel joy.

Rhett, too. Nothing so bad as the nightmares and subsequent late night phone calls through tears and raked voices. But they’re in the same boat. And Rhett hasn’t told him yet. Not outright.

The last thing Link needs is to worry that when he looks over in an afterlife of misery, that he’ll see Rhett right there by his side. ‘Cause as comforting as closeness might seem at its face, he wouldn’t wish the inferno upon his best friend. He wouldn’t want that. The notion would be too much, that Rhett wasn’t in a better place than him.

But Rhett doesn’t believe in that stuff.

And even if he does, he certainly doesn’t believe that the ease and adoration with which he takes Link’s hand and pulls it to the hidden space between them would be a reason to earn it. 

Link’s rigor mortis melts just enough for their fingers to interlock, and as the pastor rails against the type of sin they’re currently nestled in, Rhett feels Link’s breath steady and gives him a hard squeeze. 

It’s okay.

They won’t be here forever. They won’t be anywhere forever–and Rhett figures that’s just part of the beauty of loving Link.


End file.
